If it's Not Rough, it Isn't Fun
by Cannibal Glow
Summary: Frerard, of course. " We make brief, beautiful eye contact and for a second, I'm positive our lips will make my sought-after contact before he sneers at me wickedly, with hatred and lust, clutches my arm and throws me to the ground. "
1. Rough

**oh snap, oh snap, oh snap. it's me. after like, a month. i'm sorry for not posting anything in ages, but i'm here, i'm alive, i've just had a lot of stuff happen in the last month or so. so, i'm sorry again, i know i'm a douche nozzle but i hope this makes up for it a little.**

**and this is different. it's the same characters throughout, like personality wise and such, but the chapters are only connected _maaaarginnaaalllyyyy_. it could be read as a series of one-shots or as a story, but the p.o.v is going to change from chapter to chapter so it might be a little wierd to follow. **

**disclaimer/warning - if y'all like the fluffy lil' fictions i've written, then this is a slight *ahem* change of pace. i also don't own any characters i've used to will use. they're their own people. gerard's a father for christ's sake.**

I always feel like filth personified when I'm with Frank. I try and pretend that he cares about me, and sees me more than just a sex object, but I know that he doesn't. He doesn't love me, he doesn't value me. Hell, I don't even think he likes me. I mean, I know he likes the way I just submit to him and obey his commands, and I know he values the fact he knows where my prostate is. My other theory is that he _does_ love, care about and value me, but only while he's fucking me. As long as we're connected in that way, for that sordid, short time, he might love me like I love him. But... but I like it. I really like it. You might say I get off on being filth.

I'm sitting here, waiting patiently for my few minutes of real love, because Frank texted me a few minutes ago, telling me he was coming over. He didn't ask, just told. That is, apparently, how it goes with him. I know too well.

If he did ask, I wouldn't have refused anyways.

So I primped, brushed my teeth and fussed with my hair, put on cologne and changed into my tightest pair of jeans. They make my legs look thin, my ass look good, but they make my stomach bulge a tiny bit, so that involved putting on a looser shirt. I even added some eyeliner for the occasion. I, personally, think I look alright. Which isn't normal for me, because being involved physically with someone like Frank who does and says the things he does results in extreme self-consciousness.

I thought to leave the foor unlocked so Frank won't berate me when he gets here. Sure enough, he throws it open and struts in, the pagan god I make him out to be. He looks unkempt and unshaven. I'd be worried about his stubble hurting me, but we never kiss. Well, almost never. If he's hurt me too much and I'm on the brink of tears, he kisses me in order to console me the best way he knows how. It's just pity, though. He doesn't care enough to placate.

Frank throws his stuff on my floor and kicks the door shut. "Hey," he says gruffly.

"Uh, hi," I stammer.

"How're you, then?"

I look down at my knees and bite my lip, ceasing the smile forcing its way across my mouth. He asked me how I was. That was unusual. Extremely unusual. See, usually my hopes start off dashed when he walks in the door and calls me a name, but he greeted me properly this time. My hopes are officially up.

"I'm fine, thanks, and you?"

"Alright. Pissed off, really. Need to let off some steam."

Shit. He's angry. There go my hopes. Honestly, Frank is bad enough when he's horny, but when that's mixed with anger I can't move the next morning.

I begin to tremble, and my breathing changes from a normal inhale-exhale into a frightened whimper I attempt to silence. "Then do it," I say. I'll admit, when I get into it, I'm into it and I'm as bad as Frank. Well... almost. But beforehand, I'm a nervous wreck. Last week's bruises are still a little bit visible on my arms, chest, and back. It's the morning after that makes me hesitant.

"I think I will. Where at?"

"Don't care," I say, trying to be detatched. My voice doesn't betray me, but I feel sick once I've said it.

"I don't fucking know, it's your house."

"Floor, then," I snap back.

Frank steps towards me and gets close to my face. We make brief, beautiful eye contact and for a second, I'm positive our lips will make my sought-after contact before he sneers at me wickedly, with hatred and lust, clutches my arm and throws me to the ground. "Shirt off," he orders, and I peel my t-shirt up over my head and throw it. "Now, get up."

I scramble to my feet, in anticipation of what I know is going to happen. The next thing I feel is a numb pain on the right side of my jaw, accompanied by a crack which is either my jawbone detatching from my skull, although that's improbable, or my head knocking against the wall as I fall and slide down it. I raise a hand to my mouth and see blood on the back of it. I close my eyes and instantly sink into the moment. It may not be tender, but it's how we get things done.

I feel my hair being tugged at and realize Frank has a fistful of it. "You little fucking whore," he hisses in my ear before slamming my head into the wall. I'm woozy now, which adds to my content. Makes everything less complicated, more fun.

"What am I?" I ask, begging for more verbal abuse. I'm displeased at my slight slurr

"A filthy. Little. Fucking," he says slowly, raising his right hand to the left side of my face. "_Whore_!" he hollers, and backhands me so hard I crumple to the side. I moan a little, but not in pain. The burn on the side of my face causes a tingling someplace else. I slide an unthinking hand down to perhaps rearrange myself and get a little contact to satiate me, but Frank catches me doing so.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"I was...." I trail off, not knowing what to say next.

Frank pulls me up by the forearm and drops me on my tailbone, shoving my shoulder back into the drywall. I lean my head back, now consumed with a dull ache and a bit of a sting, and find my heart rate accellerated from a mix of fear and pleasure.

"Fine," he says, "seeing as how you've complied so far.... I suppose you get a break. Take off your pants."

I slide out of my jeans in inhuman amounts of time. Must have taken a half second, tops. I wait for further instruction once my jeans are flung elsewhere.

"Now," he says, "take your cock out and rub it for me."

I'm incredulous. Frank is a selfish bastard, so to have him say something like that is a blessing. So, I do as I'm told; I take out my dick, spread my legs a bit so I'm comfortable, and start to jack off. Not in an eager to cum sort of way, I mean for Frank to enjoy the show. Slowly, slowly I move my hand up and down and I groan a little bit. I stiffen up a little bit more in my hand after a minute or so before I feel that drop in my stomach that tells me if I don't stop soon, I'll shoot. It doesn't help that Frank has taken his shirt off and undone his jeans, and is rubbing his hand idly up and down his chest and stomach. "What next?" I choke out, trying desperately to think of extremely unsexual things that always morph disreptuably into fantasies of Frank and I.

"Take those off," Frank orders, nodding down at my boxers. I'm almost grateful for the break. He would have gotten angry if I came before him, and he would have gotten angry if I stopped touching myself to prevent that from happening. Not like I mind being punished, or anything of the sort, but it's different when it feels like I've done something wrong, as opposed to us both being horny.

The look on his face as he sees all of me for the umpteenth time is, as always, unreadable. He looks as if he's appraising me, but also as if he's disgusted with, oh, I don't know. My eagerness to take my clothes off. "Get against the wall, back to me," Frank snarls.

I stand up a little uneasily, and put my palms to the wall, fingers spread out for leverage. I can't press against the wall more than this, or else serious bodily injury might result. I hear Frank stepping towards me and I feel him rub up against my ass. He does love to tease me like that. I let a shaky, "_Oooh._" escape from my lips at the contact.

"Shut up," he hisses. I press my lips together in a tight line and feel a tug on my left wrist as Frank removes my hand from the wall and puts my first three fingers in his mouth, lubricating them thoroughly with his saliva before having his fun. He bites down on my knuckles, harder than a nip but less than something intended for severing them from my hand. I bite my lip and exhale harshly through my nose. He takes this as a good sign, apparently, and keeps my hand between his teeth as he licks slow circles around it.

He jerks my hand from his mouth for no good reason and instructs, "You are going to finger yourself."

The excess saliva he used suddenly makes sense. I cast my eyes downwards at my borderline painful erection and don't really have to give it a second thought as I slowly press one finger into myself and move it until I feel I can put another one in, and then another. By this time, I'm biting down on my lip so hard I taste blood, but Frank has instructed me to not make any noise. My breathing has gotten pretty loud, but I don't think he cares about that.

I look over at Frank, pull my hand away, and try to beguile him to just get it over with and fuck me already because I'm damn well ready for it, but he doesn't notice my pleading eyes. "You're bleeding. Why?"

I ease my teeth from my lip and lick away the blood. "You told me to be quiet."

Frank's eyes glaze for just a moment with what I earnestly hope is concern. It looks like it, anyhow. "Oh. Well, don't worry about that anymore," says Frank as I see him wiggle out of his pants, and I find he's not wearing any underwear. I curse myself for not thinking of that one. "Ready?" he purrs.

I roll my eyes.

He smirks a little, and takes my hand away and places it back on his hip, into which I dig my nails to brace myself. He never enters me as slowly as I'd like him to, probably because he's such a eager little fuck, even moreso than me when it all comes down to it. In any case, he buries himself inside me without any form of hesitation. I gasp and then yell one syllable, but Frank never misses a beat. He's used to my various sounds.

I feel another thrust, a little too hard, but I try and move my body with it. This isn't an easy task when you're pressed up against the wall with one hand and hanging onto someone with the other, in a pleasure-morphed position where 'awkward' doesn't begin to describe the arch in your back, but I manage just fine for the circumstances. "Fuck, Gerard! I can barely move!" exclaims Frank.

"You always," I pant, "say that!"

"Don't give me lip," Frank says, harshly at first, but the next part comes off as a purr. "Don't be a bad boy."

To me, being called 'bad' in any way is far more arousing than anything someone could physically do to me. Frank knows it, too. I feel all the tense points I have relax, including the one Frank was complaining about, and I become more aware of Frank's presence in my body. In fact, that's all I'm aware of. It takes maybe a minute before my stomach drops again and I barely manage to stutter out, "Frank, I'm gonna- I think- _fuck_, I think I'm gonna-"

Frank bends down, and mutters, "No, you're not," but he sounds less intimidating with a voice strained by sex.

"Or," I struggle to say, "or what?"

"You don't w- _ah_, want to find out."

I roll my eyes and try to think anything but this. I'm trying to think about sports, but I don't know much about them. Anyways, this sensation is rather hard to ignore. This is, even for me, intense. I don't recall the last time I've been fucked like this. Not on any of Frank's booty calls, not with anybody else. I think about death and all things morbid, and that works for a bit. I never forget completely about Frank, because he's huffing and puffing and groaning on top of me, but I put myself off enough that I can last a while longer. I wonder fleetingly if he thinks something's wrong because of my lack of noise at this point.

I've got my eyes closed and am thinking about murder when I feel a hand grasp the very thing I'm trying to tame. I gasp and whine, "Fr_a-a_nk!"

"Yes?" he asks somewhat sweetly.

"L'eggo!"

In response, Frank pumps his hand up and down my length once and I get dizzy. I abandon all thoughts of protest, and a few more strokes later Frank is eliciting a vertiable symphony of moans from me. His hips crash into me as he finds his rhythm once again, and he seems strangely satisfied to have me whimpering his name. At this point I'm gritting my teeth, and pinching my eyes shut for whatever reason and I'm waiting for Frank to tell me that it's alright to blow my load because right now, there's not a whole lot keeping me from doing so except the thought of post-sex punishment. As much as I like to be pushed around, not when I've just finished being fucked.

"Hey, you," Frank leans on my back and says into my ear.

"Mm?" I reply with an imhuman amount of effort to be coherent.

"You're ready?"

"Beyond," I whimper, still trying to put myself off of an orgasm.

"I've got you," he whispers in an oddly comforting way, and I feel him push as deep as he can into me, hitting my prostate in an indirect fashion which in no time at all causes me to hit my peak with such a force that I shake and have to hold on to Frank to keep myself from falling over in exhaustion. Halfway through my orgasm, Frank bites down on the back of my neck as he comes, which makes me cough out a groan; an awkward sound but he knows he's done well.

Frank collapses onto me and I sink down to my knees, then to my side, when Frank wraps and arm around my waist and pulls out slowly as I grit my teeth against a whimper.

"That was," he whispers in my ear, "fucking hot."

"Mm," I reply in agreement.

"Roll over," he says in a harsher tone. I grunt at the effort it takes to roll my now useless body to face Frank, and I'm not excited for more orders. Not right now.

I look into his eyes, he blinks one time and presses his lips softly to mine. I respond with a slight purse of my own, kissing his upper lip and tasting the salty residue from a fair amount of sweat, although, I'm too tired to do much else. And too confused about this kissing business. My heart starts to thrum unnaturally fast as he pulls me close into him and it feels as if he's pouring emotion into this kiss now; it feels different than sympathy ones. I raise up my hand to rest it on his cheek, and he rests one leg on top of mine. Frank runs his tongue along my bottom lip, so I open my mouth a little more to grant him entry. He tastes like cigarettes, a taste which unlike most, I love. I slide my hand down to the back of his neck and rub it up and down methodically, feeling tiny goosebumps arise and I find this adorable. He seems more human now.

Frank breaks our kiss, much to my disappointment, and says, "This isn't right, is it?"

"What's not?" I pry, confused.

"Me coming over all the time, battering you senseless and fucking you, then leaving."

"I can't say I mind," I admit.

Frank laughs in that adorable way that defies all his toughness. "I do. I always feel like such a prick when I get out that door."

"Why?"

There's a pause as Frank takes a breath and braces himself. "'Cause I hurt you."

I can do nothing but blink. I don't really understand... I thought he liked hurting me. That was the point... right? "Well... it's not like I tried to stop it. Besides, you don't care if you hurt me or not," I joke.

Frank doesn't laugh. "I _do_ care. It doesn't look like it," he says, his brow furrowing, "but I do. And I'm... I'm so sorry. I let the wrong thing surpass the right thing, if that makes sense. I like you, I really do, but I took it too far. I thought I could abuse you and your feelings and get away with it. I was wrong. That's not how you treat the people you love."

"W-what?" I gasp. "What did you say? You love me?"

Frank nods sheepishly. "Since day one. I don't know why I've been such an asshole, truth be told. I can't put into words how sor-"

I interrupt him by crushing my mouth onto his, not wanting to hear any more that will ruin my buzz. Between kisses I manage to say, "I don't care,"

and, "I love you, too," and, "I liked it when you punished me."

Frank pushes me away gently while smiling condescendingly. "I don't deserve that, Gerard."

"Why not?" I whine. I want Frank even more than usual now. I'd like to know what sex with him would feel like when it's not so very angry.

"You don't have to take my shit."

"I'd like to take something else," I prod, getting an eye-roll in response from Frank.

"I'm scum. I'm worse than that. I'm awful. I'm... I'm pretty much a whore."

I smirk. "Now I thought you would be the one saying that to me."

Frank laughs again. "Oh, shut up."

"What do you want me to do?" I encourage.

Frank catches on. "I _said_, shut up!"

"Make me," I mock.

Frank presses a hand to my mouth in an attempt to silence me, to which I reply with a bite. I'm a little more daring, as I'm not so frightened of Frank's discipline anymore. I know now that he loves me, he wants me, values me, and he officially has me. I was in his grip before, surely, but this feels different. Like we each belong to the other, or could potentially. Either way, the bite is not responded to in such a tender manner as I've been thinking.

My face stings as I recover from a healthy smack. I narrow my eyes at him and smirk. "Kiss it better, you little shit."

The 'little shit' comment gets me another slap, in the precise spot he'd smacked me before, and I groan in a mixture of pain and extreme pleasure. I'm about to snap at him with my newly-asserted fraction of dominance, but Frank beats me to the punch. "I will be the one telling _you_ what to do, clear?"

"Yes," I whisper, my voice wavering at the familiar disconcerting feeling of fear and anticipation. Except now it's more anticipation with a mix of wonder.


	2. Bliss

**i fail at writing in third person, but i thought i'd give 'er a shot. enjoy. =]**

"Explain to me why, exactly, I'm supposed to come along again," Frank orders Gerard, who thinks the answer is obvious, and rolls his eyes ceilingward before he gives an answer.

"Because, Frank, I introduce all my semiregluar fucks to my parents."

Frank returns the eye-roll, and buttons up the top of his collared shirt, a despised article of clothing purchased for him without his knowledge by Gerard. He happens to think that the shirt, while his favorite color (or lack thereof; black), makes him itch. Gerard told Frank that he looked cute in it when Frank begrudgingly tried on the gift. He didn't think so at the time, and he still doesn't, but he gets a sick satisfaction from seeing Gerard happy. He wonders why this is as he absentmindedly rolls and unrolls the left cuff of the stupid shirt. "I still don't want to go," he murmurs.

"That doesn't matter," Gerard replies.

The two of them descend down Gerard's stairs from his bedroom, but Gerard stops and wraps his arms around Frank's waist. "You look nice," he says, with feeling. Gerard always thinks Frank looks alluring, but this evening Frank has a sexy sophistication mixed with scruff which makes Gerard want to pounce and risk the rug burn, but he thinks better of it. It's best to look and not touch when they have places to be.

Frank is uncomfortable at the compliment and the couple-esque contact Gerard has initiated. Uncomfortable in the most uncomfortable way; he doesn't know how he feels about this. It feels nice to have someone think he _looks_ nice, and Gerard's grip is warm and oddly comforting, but he isn't used to it. "Hey, thanks," he responds awkwardly. "You, too."

Gerard grins and kisses Frank gently on the upper lip. Another thing to feel wierd about in Frank's mind. For Gerard, a kiss is simply a way of showing cute affection, but for Frank, it must have to mean something. It's something he has to decode. While it feels good to be loved and all, he is uneasy at the prospect of tonight. Usually proud of his nerves of steel, Frank has butterflies in his stomach. He winces and Gerard takes notice.

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing, Gerard. Should we go?"

"Yeah," Gerard says, his mind now on what could possibly be bothering Frank. He finds it difficult to drop the issue, but he must as they both get into his car and he begins to drive to his parents' house. The pair are relatively silent, until Frank rather timidly asks Gerard a question he hopes will serve a dual purpose.

"So, what do I call your parents? By their names or...?"

"Mr. and Mrs. will do fine," Gerard answers, not giving Frank the precise answer he wanted.

"Mr. and Mrs... what?" Frank asks, a little embarrassed at the bluntness with which he carried this out.

Gerard's heart sinks. Frank doesn't know his last name. Of course he doesn't; he never cared enough to ask. Well, before, anyhow. Gerard supposes that perhaps it's the mandatory thing that prompted Frank to ask. That makes Gerard a little bit sad, but he tries to shake it off as he sighs and says, "Way."

"Way?" Frank repeats. He doesn't know if what Gerard's said was a random word or his actual surname.

"Yeah, Way. As in, Mr. and Mrs. Way."

"Your last name is Way?" Frank asks again, in wonder. He thinks it's an interesting surname, and is a little jealous of it. Gerard Way sounds so fitting for him. Frank lets his mind wander as he stares out the car window, his cheek on his fist. Gerard Way. Repeating it in his head makes him grin slightly. Gerard Way. Frank Way. He frowns a little as his own name doesn't sound as appealing with 'Way' at the end. Nonetheless, he is happy for this new bit of information, if not slightly stressed out by this 'meet the parents' thing.

Gerard pulls up at his parents' place, not too far from his own. He hasn't seen them in months, and feels like a bad son for waiting this long to visit, and under these obligatory circumstances. He spoke to them on the phone once a week prior to this, but he feels now as if that's not enough. He turns the car off and, after removing the keys from the ignition, rests his hand on top of Frank's. "Ready?" he asks.

"Doesn't matter if I'm ready or not, we're here anyways," Frank remarks, smiling slightly at Gerard, who returns it with a sympathetic hand-squeeze.

"They'll love you, Frankie," Gerard coos, using his petname for Frank who normally despises it being said by anyone, but it sounds strangely right coming from Gerard's mouth.

"You're supposed to say that so I don't run for the hills the second I get out of the car," Frank retorts.

"You're not going to, though."

"I'm seriously considering it."

Gerard rolls his eyes and gets out of the car, smiling to himself for no good reason at all. He opens the passenger door for Frank, who gets out and nods in thanks. He is dismayed to find his legs are shaking, and much of his body with them. Abashedly, he taps Gerard's shoulder before they begin walking to the door. Gerard turns around and raises an eyebrow. "What?"

Frank averts his eyes from Gerard's for a moment, taking a breath. He wants to tell Gerard what's bothering him, for some reaon. He feels compelled to, like he wants to share his feelings with this man, which is strange. But the butterflies in his stomach have gotten worse, so he confesses, "I'm just.. really nervous."

Gerard thinks his heart has melted. He lives for these brief moments where Frank is just as human as him, not this stoic fuck machine. He struggles to compose himself and speak. "Don't be, baby," he whispers, tucking Frank's hair behind his right ear before kissing his cheek which, to his delight, warms up and tinges red.

Frank is confused and oddly comforted by the term of endearment and the kiss, but the stirring in his stomach has stopped, and for this he is grateful. "Thanks, Gerard."

"Don't mention it."

Gerard leads Frank to his old front door and knocks a few times before a blonde woman Frank takes to be Gerard's mother opens the door. He observes Gerard bend down to hug her and kiss her cheek. He is enjoying how loving Gerard is towards her.

The woman Frank assumes is Gerard's mother looks at Frank and smiles. Frank holds out his hand for her to shake, and she takes it. "It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Way. I'm Frank."

"Good to meet you, too, Frank," says Mrs. Way.

Gerard looks on and wonders how on Earth someone like Frank can be so cordial.

Gerard's mother (or Donna, as she likes to be called) leads everyone into the living room, connected to the dining room. The familliar smell of home cooking wafts into Gerard and Frank's nostrils, reminding Gerard of his childhood and later teen years, and Frank of the same. Gerard leads Frank to a couch, and sits down, hoping Frank will take the hint and sit beside him. Frank, thankfully, does. Gerard puts an arm around Frank and pulls him in close, so their thighs are touching, making them both sweat.

"Do... do your parents know?" Frank whispers, wondering how Gerard could manage to tell anybody he was into the same sex.

"Yeah, they've known since I was 'round sixteen," Gerard says casually. He and his mom are close, but had been even closer in his teenage years. Coming out to her was only natural, and she was the one to tell his dad. Their relationship is strained now, but Gerard and his dad were never too close at any point.

"Wow. So we can, like..." Frank trails off, pressing his lips to Gerard's neck softly once.

"Yes, we can, Frank," Gerard affirms, feeling his face flush slightly.

Frank bites Gerard's neck gently for him, and Gerard lets out a soft, almost inaudible, moan of satisfaction. He knows this is inappropriate, but he wants it too much to protest. Shutting his eyes, he takes one of Frank's hands and places it on his own thigh, rubbing it up and down for Frank until he registers that he must do some of the work. Along with his methodical thigh massage, Frank uses his tongue in between playful nips of Gerard's neck, trying to get more noise from him. Frank has never told Gerard, but when Gerard moans his name, it makes him ridiculously horny.

"_Frank_, _Fraaaaank_," Gerard begins to whisper, as Frank shifts his hand to the inside of Gerard's leg. Gerard would like nothing more right now then to have that hand put to better use, and he groans as Frank reads his mind, using his other hand to palm Gerard's crotch through his jeans.

Frank finds his midsection is hurting, and for good reason. His erection is pushing on the font of his jeans, and he curses himself for letting something as simple as a sound get him hard. Gerard opens his eyes at this point to survey his surroundings, but sees instead a large bulge on the front of Frank's pants. He smirks to himself before purring, "We should take care of that."

"Mm," Frank responds between kisses and bites, "we really should."

"Shall I give you a tour?" Gerard asks in the most seductive way possible.

"Sounds good," Frank says quickly, breaking his veritable feast on Gerard's neck, and getting up.

Gerard giggles at Frank's growing hard-on, but realizes with disappointment that he has quite a formidable bulge himself. Nonetheless, he holds a hand out for Frank to take, and he pulls the shorter man up in order to show him around the house. He takes Frank downstairs to his room in the basement, and gives a vague verbal description: "S'my room."

Frank finds the lightswitch on the wall and flicks it off, to Gerard's confusion. All at once, Gerard feels his back make contact with the hard ground and Frank's weight on top of him. From the pressure he feels on his thighs, crotch and waist, he knows Frank is straddling him, "Did I hurt you?" Frank breathes.

"Sort of, yeah," Gerard admits.

Frank leans down, nips Gerard's earlobe and flicks his tongue against it before answering, "_Good_," in a whisper that could have made Gerard blow his load if he wasn't careful.

Frank proceeds to kiss along Gerard's neck and collarbone, licking trails along it, biting it, caressing it with one of his hands every so often, and adoring the noises coming from Gerard, who had taken his voice up from whispers to moans, knowing full well his parents can't hear him from here. He'd taken that opportunity to bring boys down and have his fun with them. It was also rather convenient when he was alone, save a bottle of lube and a hidden VHS.

Frank has his hands up Gerard's shirt and is letting his fingers explore Gerard's chest, paying special attention to his nipples. He thinks in passing that they've never had such intimate foreplay. It's times like these when Frank remembers that he loves Gerard, and would be perfectly content to lay here and kiss in the dark forever, but his selfish erected lower half, coupled with Gerard's, straining against it, fast-tracking things a little, outweighing Frank's common sense.

Gerard assists Frank in taking off his shirt, difficult with all the buttons but a rather nice shade of red, and then pushes Frank's head down to his chest, wanting more than fingers toying with his chest. If anything, it must be Frank's tongue. And Frank understands that. So he takes to licking circles around Gerard's nipples, and when Gerard's groans have waned, he bites. Not extremely hard, but not very soft either. He involuntarily grinds his hips against Gerard to cease the quake in his stomach when Gerard yells his name.

They continue on like this for a while, with Frank putting his mouth on every part of Gerard, and that includes tonguing the outside of Gerard's pants, enjoying Gerard's squirms and twitches. He doesn't think he can take just the sounds any more, he wants sensation; so Frank begins to undo Gerard's belt, but just as he does so, Gerard's mother calls down the stairs, "Dinner!"

Gerard rolls his eyes and tries desperately to at least make his hard-on die down before locating his shirt. Frank does the same before leading the way up to the dining room. He doesn't know why he's got such a good handle of Gerard's house already, but he's sort of thankful, like perhaps this is a sign.

Frank notes that tonight's cuisine is vegetarian-friendly at the same time Gerard wonders how someone like Frank can have a soft spot for animals. They sit beside eachother and comment that dinner looks delicious. Frank sees Gerard's father for the first time and sees that Gerard's looks come from both, in a perfect combination. Smiling at the man, Frank says, "Hello," in a cordial manner.

"You must be Frank," Gerard's father says, without looking at Frank, but reaching for a bun from the basket in the middle of the table.

"Yes, sir."

"Good to finally put a face to the name," Mr. Way says absently, as if it doesn't embarrass Gerard, who furrows his brow and flushes a healthy red.

The four get settled in and begin to eat the veggie lasagne and garden salad before Gerard gets bored. He likes to observe Frank, and watching him chew is fascinating, but Gerard is restless and horny. So, smirking as he takes a bite of salad, he furtively slips a hand beneath the tablecloth to feel the firmness of Frank's thigh. Frank turns to look at him, fighting a gasp, but Gerard pretends as if it's not happened. Frank rolls his eyes and skewers a bite of lasagne with his fork before Gerard grows bored once more and slides his hand northwards and inwards, grabbing his prize. Frank exhales sharply and drinks a bit of water. However, Gerard will not be ignored. He rubs his hand up, down, and around Frank's crotch, which has quickly stiffened again, eager for action after their foray in Gerard's bedroom. Frank tries to cope, but he is made to speak when Gerard's mother asks him what he does.

"F-for a living?" he stammers, Gerard's hand squeezing harder.

"That's what she meant, yeah," Gerard replies nonchalanty, continuing his imprompteau, through-fabric handjob.

"Nothing really," Frank says slowly, long pauses between phrases. "I'm between bands right now."

"That must be exciting," Mr. Way contributes.

"Oh, yeah," Frank nearly moans, "it's pretty cool. But it seems to keep getting _harder_," Frank hints, putting emphasis on the word, Gerard responding by moving his arm faster, pressing down with more force, "with every day, you know?"

"It must," Mrs. Way replies, "with the lousy music scene here. Or so Gerard says; I wouldn't know anything about it."

"It _is_ lousy, mom," Gerard adds.

"But hey, if this teaches you anything, it's _don't stop_ following your dreams, right?"

"Very insightful, Frank," Gerard's father commends.

"Thank you, sir. I," Frank pauses to clear his throat, cleverly stifling a moan as Gerard unzips his fly and begins tracing his finger along the tip of Frank's dick, "I think _I'm going to come soon_ on a point where I'll find my centre, and, um, and find something th-that makes me happy," he struggles to finish as his pleasure grows more intense.

Gerard looks at him, raising an eyebrow. Frank's returning face appears cold to Gerard, but really he's just clenching his jaw to keep himself somewhat normal-looking in spite of his impending orgasm. Taking Frank's face as a bad sign, he takes his hand away and does Frank's fly back up before continuing to eat dinner. Frank is a little disheartened at the loss of feeling, but he perks up a bit at the notion of what he's going to do to Gerard the very instant they're alone.

The dinner conversation is mundane as the last of the food is finished up and the noises of cutlery against plates has stopped. "That was great, Mrs. Way," Frank applauds.

"Thank you, but you can call me Donna."

"Donna, then," replies Frank with a wink, knowing full well the effect he has on women. He doesn't know why, presicely, but they seem to swoon whenever he makes eye contact. He uses this to his advantage most of the time, making good friends that way. "Can I help with the dishes?" he asks, wanting to be polite, but hoping he doesn't get a response which will tear him away from Gerard.

"Oh, no thank you, Frank, I can do it."

"Are you sure, Donna?" Frank asks, wincing at the notion that she may reconsider.

"Thanks so much, but I really am fine. You and Gerard go spend time together."

"No, thank _you_," Frank says, smiling earnestly at Mrs. Way before he feels Gerard interlacing his fingers between his, and tugging on his arm. Obviously, he's got no choice but to follow Gerard to wherever he's being tugged to.

Gerard has his motives, which he does not intend to abandon at this point in time. He wants Frank, here and now. He had a taste of him in his room, and a little more at dinner, but now he wants all of Frank. If he gets interrupted this time, he doesn't care. He needs to have it off within the next ten minutes or he shall surely explode.

Frank allows himself to be pulled to Gerard's room, and kicks the door shut behind him.

Gerard finds his bed easily in the dark after Frank shuts the door, and begins to fiddle with his pants, cursing the set of buttons that holds them together. It's more difficult to figure out than a singular button, but eventually he gets it and pulls them down to the creases at the backs of his legs. He raises his hips up and puts his forehead on his forearms, gritting his teeth for the pain he's about to recieve.

Frank struts over, having neatly placed his jeans in the corner of the room, and admires Gerard's ass. It's always been so perfect; every single time he's seen it. He wishes his own backside were that nice as he places his two hands on it and massages a little bit roughly, enjoying the feeling of soft skin beneath his hands. Gerard groans in appreciation, but he wants to be fucked right now, not loved. Love can come after. He appreciates Frank's attempt to warm him up, but he wants something inside him, not outside him. "Just fuck me, Frank," Gerard grumbles into the comforter.

Frank rolls his eyes. "As you wish," he says as he thrusts into Gerard, who lets out a yelp into the bed. Frank considers Gerard's noises, so he pulls the both of them over onto their side and gets Gerard's pants off with his feet. He places one hand around Gerard's middle, and the other over Gerard's mouth. He pulls Gerard back into him and pushes him away, doing all the work, but not minding one bit. This elicits a series of moans into Frank's hand, but they are muffled enough so as not to disturb anyone upstairs.

Gerard nips one of Frank's fingers in the throes of pleasure, and Frank in response bites down on the nape of Gerard's neck, activating nerves Gerard never knew he had. He squeaks in a high pitched way, which Frank finds strangley adorable, so he licks along Gerard's neck, while pushing deeper into him. Gerard feels he needs an extra push to cum tonight, so he musters up all of his coherency to stammer, "C-call me a whore!"

Frank smirks knowingly at the fact he's created this fetish within Gerard, and is only too happy to comply. "You're a whore," he purrs. "A fucking worthless little whore."

Gerard groans loudly and Frank digs his nails into Gerard's stomach, pulling him in closer in order to push as deep as he possibly can into Gerard, feeling his own stomach drop and flutter at the same time, knowing that this means he is about to hit his peak faster than usual, thanks to Gerard's help at the dinner table. He doesn't want to cum before Gerard and sacrifice the feeling of Gerard's muscles tightening around him, so he tries to put himself off by way of mental diversion.

This fails after around a few seconds later, so he takes a hold of Gerard's cock, thinking he should be used to it by now, and begins to run his hand along it, speeding up more than he usually would but he considers this to be a crisis. Gerard feels Frank's hand and welcomes it at this point because he wants it off with Frank and fast. He fills his head with all the dirty thoughts he can while Frank is pumping his hand on one end and fucking the other. Gerard thinks that this might be too much, that he might combust right here and now, but he doesn't. What he thinks is the prelude to bursting into flames, is the prelude to an orgasm, and this one is unpreventable. He feels himself tense before he can stop it, and Frank sighs in relief, feeling Gerard clench around him, shooting him into his own climax, and he clings to Gerard with all his gusto, thinking that this is the time where they are truly alive and in love. Nothing else amounts to holding eachoher desperately, trying to remain somewhat composed but still consumed with animal lust. Nothing at all.

"Should we go back upstairs now?" Gerard pants, Frank feeling the heaving of his chest and stomach.

"Not yet," Frank murmurs, letting his eyes slip closed. "Let's stay for a little while."

Gerard yawns, putting his arm over top of Frank's, pressing it closer into his side. "I can deal with that."

Frank takes some effort to lift his head and kiss Gerard's cheek, leaving them both utterly, completely, blissful. Exhausted and sweaty, but blissful nonetheless.


	3. Dysfunction

**ive been without internet so this update had to wait til tonight but it's here!!!**

"Is.. is it me?" Gerard asks me, and even though I can't see him, I know he's staring at me.

I shake my head slightly, still not making eye-contact. I can't look at him, because I know for a fact what face he's got on right now. His eyes are wide, his mouth is in a small purse and he is staring expectantly. I'm looking at my knees, which are just below the cause of this painfully long, awkward moment. How could Gerard even think, even _think_ of thinking it was him? There's not anything wrong with Gerard. I still find him as sexy as I did on the first day we met, the first day we fucked, and the first day we said 'I love you', but... there's got to be a reason that I can't get it up. I've always depended on this to happen precisely when it needs to, 'cause it always has before. I'm ashamed. The wince I'm sporting is almost painful.

"Do you want me to leave you alone?" Gerard ventures, and I am of two minds about my response. Yes, I would like to be left alone right now, but I want him to stay... sort of. I think of the beauty and tragedy of how well he knows me.

I weakly nod and I hear the rustle of clothing and the jingle of a belt buckle before I lift my head to see Gerard pulling his jeans up and going out of my bedroom door. I feel empty and listless without him beside me, but also a little relieved. Once I hear muffled sounds coming from the living room, signifying the television being on, I slam my fist on the bed and hiss a curse word. I have no idea why I'm not working properly tonight. I didn't have that much to drink at dinner, and I'm not on any drugs. I still find Gerard to be the most arousing person on two fucking legs, and there was _plenty_ of foreplay (that's how it goes on dates), but nothing. Shit fucking all.

I grab my jeans from the floor and pull them up, noticing beside them lay Gerard's boxers, which means that he isn't wearing them right now. If I were to strut out there, and undo his jeans, there would be no barrier between myself and my favorite plaything. I'd slide his pants off and then get all of him in my throat, like he likes, and he'd scream my name and... and nothing would happen after that because I'm still fucking flaccid.

I run a hand through my hair and do up my fly upon standing up, and I go to join Gerard on my couch in front of my television, on which is an episode of _Friends_.

"Didn't know you were one for this show," I say, like an idiot, trying to initiate small talk and hopefully make him forget about the little incident before.

"Joey reminds me of you," Gerard says, and smiles at me.

"Does he?" I inquire, sitting down beside my boyfriend and putting my arm around him.

"Yep," continues Gerard. "Pretty blatant when picking people up, but damn it, it works. You've even got the Italian thing, too. 'Cept you're not..."

"Not what?"

"A _complete_ idiot."

"Oh, yeah? Well, you remind me of Phoebe."

"Do I?" Gerard asks dreamily.

"Mhm. You can't sing and play guitar to save your life and you spend most of your time in cafes."

"Below the belt, Frankie, below the belt," Gerard replies, reminding my of my plight.

I roll my eyes and squeeze Gerard's shoulder, and try to get lost in the show. Except it's only a matter of five minutes before Gerard is sucking at my neck like a vampire without fangs. My eyes are closed and I am imagining the naughtiest, filthiest, kinkiest shit I can dream up, but still absolutely no reaction from my cock. This is starting to piss me off now. I stick a hand against Gerard's chest and meagrely push him away before he looks at me, his eyes seeming large and innocent, and asks, "Why'd you do that?"

"What's the point?"

Gerard ponders this for a moment before saying, "Because I know you like this and I quite enjoy kissing you."

I smile, and then reply, "That is a fact, Mr. Way."

Gerard continues kissing my neck, and eventually works his way up to my earlobe, which he licks and then whispers, "I'm going to take care of you, okay?"

I gulp, absolutely unsure of what he means. But I murmur, "Okay."

Gerard rubs his hand along my chest and sides as he licks along my collarbone. He presses his teeth gently into my shoulder, as if asking permission. So I let a long, soft groan escape my lips, which he must take as my blessing to bite. Gerard clenches his teeth around me a little harder, and I exhale sharply, enjoying that he hit a nerve, giving me goosebumps. Not a hard-on to speak of, but it's something. I still have the intense butterflies in my stomach that I always do when Gerard and I are messing around, though, so maybe this is a good sign.

I feel hands at my waist, undoing my jeans and pulling them down. I feel my face warm up at my embarrassingly pathetic-looking dick. It can't help Gerard's ego that he can't get me hard, either, but it doesn't show. He troops on and blows on me, causing a lovely sensation but not the one we're looking for. I hear a "Hmm," come from Gerard as he gets up off the couch and ventures over to my stereo. I'm staring at his ass while I do my pants back up, not caring how pervy I may look.

In the midst of my staring, I hear some interesting techno with some vocals fill the room, not recalling ever buying any techno discs. Gerard must have comingled it with my CD collection, sans my knowledge. In any case, he stands in front of me and begins to gyrate his hips, with his thumbs through his belt loops. Now I have a reason to look at his backside. And how.

"Dance with me!" he exclaims and whips round, and pulls me up before I can object.

He pulls my arms up around his neck, and his are down around my waist, and we're moving in time to the repetitive music, extremely close to one another. I focus on the lyrics. _Hands, girl, boy ,and steel boy; you had chemicals ,boy. I've grown so close to you, boy, and you just groan, boy; she said: __"Come over, come over." She smiled at you, boy._ What a fucking wierd song.

Gerard pulls me close, so all I can feel is his skin against mine, creating friction, and same with our hips. He's grinding me slightly, not in the obvious way, but he really is trying to get a response from me. And I'd like nothing more, but it's just not happening. I'm blushing now, genuinely embarrassed by my failure to rise to the occasion.

"What can I do?" Gerard whines into the crook of my neck and shoulder. "I've pretty much used all of my moves."

"What do you have in reserves?" I ask, curious.

"I'd say watch dirty movies, but I don't wanna leave the apartment. So... I suppose I could go for my absolute last resort."

"Which is?"

"Potentially dangerous and could get either one of us thrown in jail."

I like what I'm hearing, so I stretch my neck up to kiss the bottom of Gerard's chin. "Tell me more," I whisper in anticipation.

"I'd rather _show _you."

Without allowing any chance for my objection, Gerard pulls me by the wrist across my living room and out of the door I have leading to my shitty, cold, concrete patio. He sits me down on the ground and straddles me, kissing me desperately. His breathing is heavy, and his hands are on either side of my neck, pulling me closer into him, and I'm getting really into it, myself. I have my arms at Gerard's back, digging my nails into it and one of my knees is raised and pressed into his crotch. "Nothing yet?" he huskily whispers between kisses.

To this, I shake my head in regret.

"Shit," he hisses, but continues attacking me with his lips. Pulling away, he says, "Well... I got something for us, and it might work for you, but... it would involve me... taking some control."

"Do whatever you have to," I hear myself beg. It hits me a second later; I have just begged Gerard for something. ... The fuck is wrong with me? I feel like my upper hand has been lost.

I look on as Gerard digs a pink square from his pocket, and tears it open violently with his teeth. It's a condom, which is strange for us to use but I'm absolutely fucking desperate, and desperate to be fucking, so I allow it. But there's something else with it. A little ring. Well, not _little_. I raise an eyebrow as Gerard pulls down his pants, and am jealous of his ability to find wood on fucking command. Although the sight of his cock isn't really doing me much harm. I swear I feel myself getting at least half-solid. Or maybe that's wishful thinking. "Wanna help me with this?" he asks, raising an eyebrow and holding out the still rolled-up rubber. I lean up, put it in my mouth, and lean down in order to wrap Gerard with my mouth. We've tried this before; I'm better at it than he is.

He exhales the further down my throat he goes, and I've soon got him as ready as he'll ever be. The fully functional fucker that Gerard is looks at me and puts my attention to the ring-like thing he has which was in the condom wrapper. He does something to it which makes it hum, and I'm wondering what the fuck it is and why we need something that hums in order to get my dick to work but then he presses the thing to my arm, and I smile broadly. It doesn't just hum. It _vibrates_.

I instantly comprehand the purpose of the vibrating ring and why it was in the condom wrapper. "So, that goes on your..." I trail off.

Gerard nods enthusiastically, then he pulls his vigour back a little bit. "You'll feel it and all," he says with modesty.

I turn around with a bit of effort, and struggle with my jeans so now Gerard has the upper hand entirely. I hear him snicker a little bit at my vulnerability before he gently tugs down my pants. I feel his breath on my ear as he whispers, "I love you, Frank."

... Annnd we have liftoff.

I try and push myself up to my knees and relieve the pressure on my rapidly solidifying dick, but Gerard's got me pinned down pretty well. I wince at the sensation of a crushed hard-on and I groan to Gerard. "Yeah?" he asks,

"Can I just... reposition myself? I'm, um..." I splutter awkwardly, the blood rushing from my brain and quickly elsewhere.

"Solid?" Gerard asks me hopefully, and I wonder how in the hell he knows.

"Yeah, that."

"Sure," Gerard replies, easing up so I can lift myself up into the standard position, on my hands and knees. "So, does this mean you wanna, like, switch?" he asks dejectedly.

"Just shut up and fuck me before I change my mind," I snarl, anxious now to have something inside me. But a good sort of anxious.

There is a pause and for a few seconds all I can hear is the hum of the vibrating ring, and I wonder what Gerard is doing and why he is not yet having sex with me, but when I hear him say, "_Woo_," in a high pitched tone, I can tell he has applied the ring and is now getting the sensation. Soon after, I feel the tip of his dick push into me and I inhale sharply, through my teeth which I hadn't noticed until now that I'd been gritting. Slowly, slowly the rest of Gerard presses into me (and he _is_ rather endowed), and the pain I feel is dragged out. I hear a long, untinentional groan escape my throat and Gerard clamps a hand over my mouth, like I'd done to him before. But this time it's so we don't attract neighbours' attention and get ourselves arrested or something like that. But I've relaxed a bit and it's starting to feel good. Better than good. I'm feeling the vibration inside of me and it's making my whole body buzz. I'm groaning into Gerard's hand, and trying to do so quietly while he has his mouth rested on my shoulderblade, breathing heavily into it and biting at my skin. He keeps saying, "Fuck," under his breath, in a husky, strained way which makes me think he's getting close to an orgasm. This is a disconcerting fact because I'm nowhere near mine.

As if to confirm my theory, he gasps and grunts on top of me, gripping my sides which gives me a mild amount of pleasure, and then he pulls out. Fuck my life.

"I-" he stammers, "I-I'm so sorry, it's just that this time I had help, and I was raring to go for a long time.. I- I tried to stop it, but-"

"Shhh," I interrupt. "That's fine. I had fun," I say. It's the truth. While I am now horny and hard as fuck, I enjoyed myself a bit. And I understand. Gerard had to work pretty hard in order to get me going tonight, so he deserves his fun.

"Give me..." he trails off, pondering. "Ten minutes, alright? We can go again."

"Really? You seem pretty spent," I say, hoping desperately he won't agree with me.

"Yeah," Gerard says, and I wince. "But that means you can recharge my fuckin' battery," he purrs, pressing his lips to my neck.

I ignore the cheesiness of his statement and involve myself in the impending make-out session. I pull Gerard's head up in order for his lips to meet mine, and I get to taste his tongue. I won't ever tell him, but Gerard tastes _so_ great. No matter what day, time, body part, anything. He just always tastes so damn good. I moan in absolute content while we kiss, knotting my fingers into his long hair, trying to pull him closer and closer but when I can't, I still clutch at him desperately.

This, however, is too gentle for my liking. I remember how it was before we had admitted our love for eachother, how rough and disgusting and amazing our sex had been. I decide to bring it up, pushing Gerard off of me by his chest. "Gerard?"

"Mm?" he responds in a dreamy tone of voice, heavy lids over curious eyes.

"What ever happened to your being my, you know. My..." I lean into him again and nip his lower lip with my right canine tooth and the one below it for emphasis, "... bitch?"

Gerard's eyes widen and he licks his lips. I take this to be excitement. "Dunno," he says frankly. "Wanna start that up again?"

I quote a song I've heard on the radio recently in Gerard's ear. "Baby, when it's love, if it's not rough it isn't fun."

"Hit me," Gerard whispers back.

"Beg," I snarl, biting his earlobe and leaning back a little before I let go.

"_Please_," he whispers almost inaudibly, his voice shaking already, "_please hit me!_"

I lift the back of my hand to the right side of Gerard's face, watching him bite his bottom lip and squeeze his eyes shut in anticipation of my strike. I take a mental picture of this face because I want to imagine it when I finish with him. Without another thought, I connect my hand to his cheek. He cries out in both pain and pleasure, drawing one of his hands to the red mark I've left. I take it away, deny him this reflex, before I begin sucking on his index finger. This is, as I've discovered, is a sensitive spot for him and he moans, much to my own pleasure. "Should we not go inside?" I ask him, his finger still between my lowe gum and cheek. Gerard simply nods in reply and I drag him into my bedroom.

There's a bed, yes, but we simply crash to the floor in a tangle of pale, sweaty flesh and thrash and roll with powerful, angry kisses. Once I secure my dominant position (my knees on either side of him while he lays beneath me), I bend over and press my lips to his neck, gently at first but I'm soon bored of this and take to using my teeth, sucking, biting, doing whatever I can to make him squirm under me. Seeing Gerard squirm is one of my favorite positions in which I like seeing him.

And Jesus, squirm he does. With my own excitement a lot more dragged out than Gerard's, I'm groaning while he struggles against me, the friction of his movement nearly pushing me over the edge. "Calm the fuck down," I order, so comfortable with berating him.

"Sorry," he whines, his body shaking now, as opposed to writhing.

Both of us shaking and straining against the inevitable, I lift one of Gerard's legs up by my shoulder, holding it there and seeing his face transform into shock. "That alright?" I ask him.

"Like you give a fuck if it's not," he says, smiling slightly.

"No," I reply, lifting his other leg up, "I," I continue, steadying myself, getting balance on my knees, "_don't_!" I grunt, forcing my way into him. He is, as always, a tight fit but since he's already fucked me tonight I have an easier time. Usually it takes some wiggling and some gente kisses, but now I can thrust fully into him in one fell swoop. I like that. And, by the noises Gerard is making, he does too.

Blissful minutes of thrusting, moaning, grunting, sweating, clawing, biting, insults and sweet nothings ensue while we fuck, and I think Gerard is in his most perfect form in this position. I love seeing every one of his facial reactions to what I do as they happen. The way he grits his teeth during the first few seconds turns me on more than I could imagine possible. And I know better when he is about to reach an orgasm, the way his whole face scrunches up coupled with familiar whimpers. "Frank," he wines desperately. "I'm- _I'm_!"

"Let it out, baby," I purr, picturing his face as he was preparing for me to hit him while his inner muscles clench around me, jerking me from my thoughts and into my own climax. I get a handful of his long hair and pull upwards, looking at his strained, pleasured expression while I fill him up to the best of my ability.

I fight every instinct of collapsing onto him in order to pull out of him, though I would have been perfectly content to stay connected with him forever. I roll on my side and prop my head up on the palm of my hand, elevated by my elbow, and wrap an arm around his waist. I look at his beautiful chest heaving up and down, his cheeks flushed pink. I've never noticed that he blushes when we have sex. I must keep an eye out for that next time.

"I don't think we can match tonight ever again," he says breathlessly.

"Agreed," I reply, laying a demure little kiss on his cheek. "We can only get better."


	4. Halloween

**I've been a busy bee this summer so it's taken ages upon AGES for this, but eh. This caters to the slightly sick and twisted. ;)**

I am tugging Frank into my room; his eyes are shut. I am surprising him with a birthday present which he has been asking about all week, anxious like a little puppy. As for the present, I've invested in several factors which make up said gift. One, I have replaced my wooden headboard with one of those metal ones with the vertical bars. Aesthetically pleasing, yes. Dual-purposed, yes. Two, I made a trip to various, slightly frightening stores, in order to pick up a few items which I think Frank'll like when he sees them.

"Now," I whisper in his ear, nipping his earlobe (something he'd done to me before which I quite liked, myself), "stay right here and keep your eyes shut, alright?"

Frank nods eagerly at my demand while I pick up the first part of my ensemble. A red ball attatched to one strip of leather, like a thin belt. I clamp the ball in my mouth and fasten the buckle behind my head, sneaking a look in the mirror. I look like someone from a porno. This, I reason, is not necssarily a bad thing, as I snooped through his room the other day when I was there, finding a stack of DVDs underneath his bed with boys clad in leather on the front cover of the top case. I hadn't a doubt in my mind that Frank was into that sort of thing, watching it as opposed to doing it, but I was nonetheless shocked... and inspired.

Next come the toys, which are in my sock drawer. I've only recently discovered my penchant for things that vibrate, so I bought a vibrator. I looked like a creep buying the thing, however, because it's generally a female purchase, but in any case, it seems sensible. Feels good. _Really _good, actually. Yes, I admit to having tested it out before tonight 'cause I haven't the self-control to leave it just sitting there. Along with that, I bought a studded belt from a less threatening store, because bona fide whips aren't really my preference, though studded belts work _magic_.

The last things I bought were handcuffs and scarves, giving Frank some freedom of choice in the matter of tying me to my bed.

I sit on the edge of the bed and clear my throat, because I can't really speak very well with a gag. Frank opens his eyes which expand to the size of saucers when he sees his gift, also known as me.

"Happy birthday in-_deed_," Frank says in awe, slowly stepping over to me, running a finger from my chin down to my lap while he checks out the fruits of my shopping spree. "And I'm sure," he continues quietly, "I don't have to tell you how absolutely fuckable you look right now."

I shake my head, fighting a giggle. I'd like to kiss him for saying that, but my mouth is inaccessable at present.

"Before we start," he purrs, holding the potential bondage in his two hands, "which one would you like?"

I shrug. It's only a matter of being bruised by the scarves or cut by the handcuffs. Frank looks down at the scarves, running them along his own wrist and grinning menacingly. "I think I could have more fun with these." He puts them around his neck.

I want to grin at him, but that's impossible. My teeth are firmly in place.

Frank slides his hands gingerly up my shirt and pulls it off painstakingly slowly, tossing it aside. His eyes seem to be drinking me in as he does this, though I don't know why. Perhaps he sees me as sexier now that I've taken initiative and made some purchases. Or perhaps it's something else entirely.

He pushes me up the bed and I scoot back to make his job easier. He takes one scarf from his neck and drags it lightly across my left wrist, giving me goosebumps, before he ties it into a complicated knot around my arm. As he reaches back to tie the other end of the scarf to my headboard, he comments, "I like your new bed frame."

Frank secures my right arm and then reaches for the vibrator, which he flicks on and almost marvels at for a second. A twisted grin emerging on his face, he brings it to the right side of my chest, pressing it very lightly to my nipple and the surrounding areas. I never knew something like that could feel so _good_. I lift my chest up reflexively and he draws the toy away. The fucking tease. I show my displeasure with a throaty growl and narrowing my eyes, which I don't think Frank minds at all. Fuck.

Although I'm a little happier when Frank begins to unbutton and unzip my jeans, revealing my new boxers (black satin), not to mention my visible excitement beneath them. Frank grins evilly as he pulls my pants down to my ankles and presses the vibrator against the head of my dick, making me buck my hips forward reflexively, but that makes Frank yank away the source of my pleasure. You'd think I'd learn but I never was good with the whole, 'for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction' thing.

"Hmm," he murmurs. "I seem to have made a little mistake. There's not much I can do while you're face-up, is there?"

I want to protest that I don't mind having my legs up on his shoulders but I can't. Being gagged can be extremely aggrivating. So, without another word, Frank unties the scarves from the bedpost, and my wrists, and snarls, "Roll over."

This I do without complaint. Frank, though, unexpectedly crosses my arms so my right one is across to my left side, and my left arm is on top of it. I feel Frank put his knees on either side of me, and reach up with one of the scarves to bound my two wrists together, crossed over as they are, and then he ties them to the bedpost in front of me, _tight_. So tight I cry out in shock at my arms being pulled that hard, and Frank chuckles menacingly above me and murmurs, "That's it, baby," dragging out the 'a' sounds.

I wonder vaguely what Frank is going to do with the other scarf, but as if reading my mind, he answers my unspoken question in a way that both thrills and slightly frightens me. He drapes the scarf over my eyes, and ties it at the back of my head. I give a muffled, startled sounding, "Mm?!"

"Relax," Frank purrs. "It makes it better. Because humans," he explains, as I feel him pulling down my boxers and slowly sliding them down my legs and eventually down to my ankles, and then off. "Rely on sight. And if," he says, his weight shifting on the bed as I hear something rustle. "Sight is taken away, we rely on our other senses to help us. Touch being one of them and for some, myself included, the most primary."

I feel a sudden chill on the front of my neck, and I realize my head is being pulled back by something cold. I feel lips at my ear. "This is the belt, and I am going to spank you with it,"

My stomach lurches with excitement. Previous partners have spanked me before, and I've really liked it, but Frank has never brought up the idea, nor executed it. I didn't want to ask or demand because I always wondered if he didn't like doing that. Though now I know he at least doesn't _mind_.

Before I have the chance to think anything else, I feel a sharp smack on my behind and I don't know if it was from a hand or the nonstudded side of the belt. Though from the satisfied moan from Frank, following my gasp, tells me his hand is the likely contender. "Have I ever told you how genuinely amazing your ass is, Gerard?" he asks, obviously not expecting a reply from me but I want to thank him. It's an oddly flattering compliment.

"I really should do that more often. And I should do _this_ more often!" He emphasizes 'this' by bringing what I can tell is the studded side of the belt down on my ass, making me grunt in a strangely animal way I've never heard myself grunt before. Frank seems to like that noise because he whips me with the belt five or so more times, making me replicate the sound, before he stops, a little to my dismay. Another thing I'm disappointed about, although a common side effect of a gag, I'm slobbering slightly. Ew.

I wipe my chin off on my upper arm, aiming for the sheet, but my aim is slightly off due to my lack of eyesight, and Frank must have caught it because he says, "Drooling?"

I bark an odd, muffled laugh and nod my head.

"Don't worry. Happens to the best of us."

I nod again, not sure what it's signifying and I hear the vibrator start up again. I inhale through my nose in preperation for whatever Frank is going to do, but I smell something. Something banana-esque. I wonder what it could possibly be, though when I feel the vibrator slide into me, feeling cold, with some degree of ease, I conclude that it's lubricated. The lube is probably what smells like bananas. But that's the only train of thought I complete, because before long the pleasure gets too great to be coherent. All I can focus on is Frank pounding the vibrator into me, slower than I appreciate which is unlike him, though I'm not too displeased. My usual sex noises sound odd when I've got this thing in my mouth, however. This dismays me, but the buzzing sensation from my head to my toes distracts me from this. I begin to whimper after minutes of this, and Frank presumably decides he's had enough, because he painfully slowly takes it out of me and switches it off, leaving me with an odd, unsatisfied sensation.

"Unf," I grunt.

"Be patient!" Frank hisses, and there is a brief pause in action. And then I feel something else inside me, something that goes rather deep and just hits my prostate, making me cry out past my gag. Frank chuckles sadistically and presses whatever it is down harder, moving it faster in and out. There is an additional object being added now, and I come to the conclusion that Frank is most probably using his fingers.

I feel pressure on my back and hear, in a whisper, directly in my ear, "I am going to make you _scream_."

With that, there is another addition to my body, pressing harder, going deeper. This goes on, making me make noises of course, but no screams. Frank seems to notice this, and removes his presumable fingers from me. And suddenly, feel something very, very familiar inside of me, all of it at once. This makes me yell and tense up before Frank pulls out of me and thrusts again, and with my being nonrelaxed, Frank gets his sought-after scream. He moans and again, chuckles sadistically in the midst of it.

Frank undoes the gag from behind my head, and I shake it off and spit it out. My mouth feels a little off, but my sex sounds are less alien. I still can't see, but it is somehow arousing me more, the pure sensation. Frank continues to thrust into me, deeper, harder, more intensely. The scarf I have around my wrists digs into them as I squirm and struggle, fighting against something unknown and unwelcome, yet familiar and invited at the exact same time.

I obey commands such as, "Say my fucking name!", things in that vein, all the while trying to put off the inevitable, to prolong the sensation for the both of us, but with the way Frank is fucking me, it doesn't work for very long.

My bottom lip, which I am gnawing on in the throes of pleasure, begins to quiver and I start to whimper. Frank, taking these signs, presumably in the right way, thrusts into me one final time before I am pushed over the edge of an orgasm which makes my back arch, and dig my right set of fingernails into the back of my left hand. I cry out, one syllable, and I feel Frank getting off inside me, no doubt helped by my own orgasm.

Pulling out slowly, making me wince a little, Frank unties the scarf from my eyes. I blink at the dim streetlamp's light, streaming through the cracks in the blinds. I see Frank's hands untying mine, and after doing so, he gets off the bed, leaving me in the room as he walks elsewhere. I roll over, sit up and rub my wrists, a little raw from the friction of the fabric. I feel satisfied, very sore, and very tired. But also accomplished.

Soon enough, Frank comes back into the room and slips his boxers back on. Grabbing mine, he slides onto the bed with me, and hands me my underwear which I put on. Seeing my marked wrists, he bends over and kisses them, which makes them sting a little, but I don't push him away. He comes up to my mouth, placing a tiny kiss on my bottom lip and laying down, his head propped on the palm of his hand.

"Happy birthday," I say, mirroring his position and smiling at him.

"Thanks, baby," Frank replies, letting his eyes slip shut and heaving a sigh.


	5. Fight

**There's a lack of sex in this one, don't hate me for it. I promise raunchyness in the next installment. This is just obnoxiously sappy.. well.. in my opinion.**

**BY THE WAY, _MyFictionalRomance _keeps me writing nowadays. She is absolutely fucking brilliant. Read _A Different Kind Of Lust_ and review it. It's beyond worth your while. ;) **

Frank and Gerard stagger slightly into Gerard's house in the wee hours of the morning, having just taken in a local band at a grimy bar. Gerard is equally as raring to fuck as Frank, and drunk to top it off. Frank is intoxicated as well, and he makes for Gerard in a fumbling, intense fell swoop, missing his boyfriend's waiting, wanting lips at first, hitting his chin. But Gerard moved downwards and compensated for Frank's error, nipping the shorter man's lip gently, wanting desperately to get this the fuck over with. Gerard is not in a foreplay mood, and Frank reads this loud and clear. Stripping off his blue, beaten generic denim jacket with buttons and patches outweighing actual fabric, he makes fast work of Gerard's faded black leather jacket, throwing it elsewhere. For now, it doesn't matter where this is, as long as the jacket is off of Gerard's body, revealing an Iron Maiden shirt, and a heaving chest underneath it, and underneath _that_, a rapidly fluttering heart. Gerard wants to rip Frank's Misfits shirt at the seams off of the body he loved seeing every little bit of, but Frank crosses his arms, preventing Gerard from getting at Frank's flesh. When presented with Gerard's impatient scowl, Frank simply says, "Not yet."

"And _why_ in the _fuck_ not?" Gerard snarls.

Frank is made uneasy by the apparent role reversal, though he replies anyway. "Because..." he fumbles for words. "Because I want you to want it more."

"I'm pretty sure I want it about as bad as I possibly can," Gerard says snootily, not in the mood for Frank's mind games tonight.

Frank is starting to become agitated with his boyfriend. He wonders why Gerard is trying to be the big man _now, _of all times. As if height or age means dominance, or whatever asinine thought processes Frank assumes belong to Gerard in this moment. Frank is notorious for having mood-swings when intoxicated as he is right now, and he knows this is the alcohol acting, not him. He is well-aware he is ugly and brutal when he's drunk. He no longer wants sex. Frank wants a fight, and Gerard is going to be in the other proverbial corner.

"Well?" Gerard snaps. "Are we fucking, or what?"

Frank stands there, his blood positively boiling. He is well beyond the point of reason. Gerard registers the look on Frank's face, the pushed-forward jaw, squared shoulders, and hands made into fists. With a vague sense of alarm, he squared himself up, preparing for anything Frank was going to throw at him. After all, what else could he do? With Frank, one has to be prepared to accomodate his many moods. And perhaps, Gerard reasons, he'd been too rash in wanting to get sex over with. It's supposed to be about more than 'get in, get off, get out'. Of course, he'd need to re-teach himself this. Assuming Frank doesn't teach him first.

"I'm-" Gerard begins to apologize, but one of Frank's fists steals the word before it escapes his new opponent's lips. With a crack, Frank's punch drives Gerard backwards a few steps and down to the ground. Gerard draws the back of his hand to his numbly stinging lip and wipes stray blood from it. He expected this much from Frank, of all people, though it was always a shock getting it from outside of the bedroom. Though in this scenario, he is not prepared to lie there and take it. Gerard wants to fight back. So, he gets up, head spinning, and kicks his boyfriend in the groin, promptly making him bend over in agony. Gerard takes this opportunity to yank Frank up by his hair, forcing eye-contact. "Calm the fuck down, I'm just trying to apologize."

Frank growls and reaches out, wrapping his arms around Gerard's thighs and lunging with all of his weight, pushing Gerard to the floor once more, right on his tailbone, making him cry out in anguish. With Frank's weight on him, on his spine no less, Gerard is in a fair amount of pain. The bad sort of pain.

"You fucker!" he howls, trying to shove Frank away to no avail.

Frank is flailing his arms at Gerard, making contact with Gerard's side, or shoulder, or something to make him grunt. For all intents and purposes, Gerard is pinned underneath Frank, haplessly trying to defend at least his face. He can feel Frank's hands doing damage, though nothing appears to be broken. Then again, Gerard's no doctor. He _is_, however, in a fair amount of pain in his torso, and he wants Frank to get the fuck off of him. With an inhuman amount of strength, Gerard manages to kick his legs up which seems to injure Frank, and he hops up to snarl at the doubled-over Frank, "Get the fuck out."

"What did you say?" hisses Frank, looking up at Gerard with ice in his eyes and venom in his voice.

"Get. The fuck. _Out_."

"Fine," Frank resigns, getting up off the floor and heading in the direction of the door, "fine. I don't need your shit."

Gerard watches in resignation as Frank steps out the door, slamming it behind him, and walks into the cold of the early, early morning. Gerard sinks down the wall until he is sitting in a ball, hugging his knees and noting the pain in his sides and stomach it causes. He lets a few stray tears fall, wondering what it is he did wrong.

The door opening jolts Gerard's head up, and he hears a voice which causes his tears to become a stream. "Forgot my jacket," Frank mumbles, keeping his humiliated eyes to the ground, looking for it. He feels exponentially less angry, now more sad and embarrassed. He hates himself for how he acted, and he really wants a hug, unusual for him.

Frank is almost scared to venture into the living room, where he knows his jacket is, because Gerard isn't anywhere else in his house. But it's cold as all fuck outdoors, and he doesn't care fot getting hypothermia. So slowly, meekly, he pads into Gerard's living room and hears shaking breaths before he sees the only person he's really ever loved in a heap, crying. Even past his slight drunken haze, Frank knows that he is the reason for those tears.

Not caring about the jacket any longer, Frank makes a beeline for Gerard and crouches beside him. "Hey," he coos, dismayed to find Gerard cringes away from his presence. All Gerard knows is that he doesn't want to see or hear from that motherfucker, and, to be blunt, Frank frightens him now more than ever.

"Look at me," Frank whispers gently, and Gerard – for whatever reason – lifts his head up and looks at Frank's genuinely apologetic expression. The look on Gerard's face reminds Frank of a wounded puppy, begging for any sort of love. So, Frank delicately kisses the stray tears on his love's face away, rubbing the trails they'd left with the tip of his nose, wanting more than anything to make Gerard's pain go away. "C'mon," he says, standing and extending a hand to Gerard, who is wary of this action. Last time he trusted Frank's outstretched hand, he'd been thrown to the floor. He raises an eyebrow.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Frank promises.

Gerard takes the hand and allows himself to be pulled up off the floor and away into his room. Breathing, to his dismay, causes a dull ache in his sides.

Frank leads him onto his bed, where he sits and Frank kisses his jawbone gently, taking his shirt off for him. While Gerard should object to this, stop letting himself get hurt by Frank, he can't. There's a barrier he cannot seem to cross, this invisible wall with no way over. Denying Frank proves impossible. So Gerard allows himself to be gently pushed onto his back and he feels lips on his ribs, chest, and collarbone, precisely where he was sore. Frank is kissing his bruises better, because it's the infintesimal solace he can offer. Upon reaching Gerard's chin with his healing kisses, he asks, "Can I kiss you?"

"Aren't you?" Gerard retorts.

"_Kiss_ you."

Gerard nods and allows himself to submit to a soft press of Frank's lips on his own. It is tender, it is loving, it is amazing. "I don't- I don't know how I could have done that to you... you didn't do anything wrong..." Frank murmurs, after the kiss is broken.

"Don't-" Gerard begins.

"Shh. I'm sorry. I mean, I know it doesn't cut it to say 'sorry', but you have no idea how badly I feel. I just- I wish... I want to make it up to you."

"And how are you going to do that?"

"That part, I'm not sure of. I will kiss every bruise you ever get, every time you fall and cry, I'll pick you up and wipe your tears. I swear, Gerard, I swear on my _life_ I will never hurt you again. Your pain is my pain. I mean, I feel what you feel. I just- I- I love you more than anything. You're the first person I've ever felt this way about and it scares the fuck out of me. I wish it didn't, and I wish I was natural at being in love and being perfect like you, but I can't seem to fucking do this right."

"Frank," Gerard whispers, moved by Frank's sudden display of verbose passion. "You think I'm natural at being perfect? At being in love? Wrong. I fucking suck at feelings. I've messed up everything I've had going good for me at some point. But you?" he asks, smiling and dropping his voice even lower, "You're who I'm supposed to be with. I want you, defects and all. Drop your nerves and just- just _be_. Be you and be with me because that's our point on this planet, okay?"

Frank blinks a few times. "I think... I think I can do that."

"Of course you can, Frankie. I never said I doubted you. I know you can do this with me."

"Why is it you can put all my fears to bed like that?" Frank asks.

"Because you're not really scared," Gerard ventures. "You're confident, you just get shaken easily. That's all this was. I acted not myself and shook you up."

"You know me better than I do."

"It's my job."

Frank sighs. "I love you so much."

"Ditto," replies Gerard, sighing in complete content.


	6. Toy

**Holy fuck. I'm alive! And writing! Inspiration has eluded me for a very long time, but I love all you guys who're still sticking with me. **

I can't help but focus on the contraption in my pocket while I walk alongside Gerard. It is beyond distracting, but I can't seem to bring myself to use it. Gerard told me I could, before we left the house for the mall, but it seems too good to be true. I hope he's not bullshitting about it working. Although this is basically why I love him. He goes out and buys random sex toys and insists we use them promptly. Today, it's a little device that he wears, attatched to his dick, which pulses and vibrates, and it is remote-operated. Guess who gets the remote?

"Gerard," I whine. "We've been here for two hours. Can't we go home?"

"Nope," he says, smiling at me condescendingly. "I'm not finished yet. Besides, you have a plaything, you can use it if you'd like."

I put my hand in my pocket and wrap it around the small, flat remote with an up arrow, a down one, and a 'power' button. I sigh to myself and resolve to surprise Gerard with it. That would be better, when he's not expecting it. "I might," I say cryptically.

Gerard rolls his eyes and herds me into a store what seems like miles away, where the main color scheme is black and red, though I don't catch the name of it. He browses the racks, and I simply look at him, and his ass when the opportunity presents itself. It's no secret how much that part of his body amazes me. After a while, he appears transfixed on one shirt in particular, but he looks frustrated, if slightly embarrassed. Me following, he locates someone who works at the store and inqires about sizes. His back is turned to me while he addresses the salesperson. I slide my hand quickly back into my pocket and press the circular button which switches the thing on as the salesperson is answering Gerard's question.

"What size are you looking for?" the squeaky, greasy teen asks Gerard. I hit the 'up' arrow a few times, simply for shits and giggles. Gerard visibly tenses up, stands up straighter, more rigid. Hah!

"Medium," he says through what sounds like clenched teeth. I smirk with mishchief and step beside him, slipping my other hand in his back pocket. He whips his head over to look at me and looks at me with severity. I wink.

"And can you point me to the rack where you found the article?"

"Sure thing," Gerard says, each word seperate and measured, his voice on the brink of wavering, but he manages to keep it together. Discouraged, I switch off the vibrating device and Gerard goes considerably more slack than he was before. This, I reason, will be a very fun day.

The three of us walk to the rack where Gerard found the shirt, and the salesboy goes to some sort of elusive back room because he gleaned some sort of fucking clarification from the geographical location of the rack. After he leaves, Gerard turns to me and shakes his head, but he's grinning. I bat my eyes at him. "What?" I ask innocently.

"Ever the sadist," Gerard states simply.

"Now whose fault is that, d'you reckon?" I ask, quickly reaching for the remote and activating the device it controls, enjoying Gerard's change in facial expression. He does that thing where he bites his bottom lip and closes his eyes. He doesn't understand how much this expression arouses and endears him even more to me. I press the 'up' arrow a few times and enjoy how he pigeon-toes himself and grips the top of the sales rack. I see the salesboy before Gerard does, so I press the arrow one more time and wait for the inevitable, which happens as if choreographed.

The employee taps Gerard on the shoulder, that one touch brings him back to reality, and he spins on his heel towards the kid, who is holding up the elusive medium-sized shirt. I don't press the 'power' button.

"_Thank you_," Gerard half-moans, half-whispers to the kid, who looks at him wide-eyed, hands him the article of clothing and walks away. I turn my new favorite plaything off.

"You're such a dick," he snarls to me, in a good-natured way.

"Might I _remind_ you whose idea this was?"

Gerard rolls his eyes, pays for his shirt and we walk out of the store. He informs me he has to go to the bathroom and re-arrange himself, and I thank him kindly for the information. He holds my hand while we walk, which still makes me slightly uncomfortable, doing something that couple-y in public, but I'm getting better, and Gerard is patient with me. I squeeze his hand in search of a reassuring squeeze back, which I recieve and sigh in contentment.

Upon reaching the bathroom, I get a bright idea and pull him into the large stall for handicapped people. He raises an eyebrow at me and I smirk, reaching into my pocket, pressing the 'power' button and the 'up' arrow to the same intensity it was at in the store. He contorts his face into the aforementioned expression that I adore and he grips the bar on the stall wall. I increase the intensity by two and he lowers himself onto the toilet, squirming like I've never seen him before. I straddle him and kiss him ferociously, trailing down to his neck when I increase the intensity of the vibration by two more, now feeling it through to my own crotch. Gerard starts to moan quietly and I rake my fingernails down his thigh. "Does he want more?" I purr into Gerard's ear.

"_Please_," he whispers, and I turn up the sensation a few more. I stand up, crossing my arms and cranking the vibration as high as it can go. I want to enjoy the show, and I have a feeling Gerard senses this. He squirms about, his breathing shallow and laboured, squeezing my name in there a few times. I'm getting a bit of a sensation down below simply for the fact that I am a catalyst to his pleasure without even touching him, and he is powerless to stop it. He begins to moan quietly, my name coming up more frequently. But I want to have a bit more fun with this, so I say, "Don't- don't call me that. It's Master for now, alright?"

"Whatever you say," breathed Gerard, "_Master_."

I exhale sharply, surprised at how much I really do enjoy being called that. Watching Gerard's pleasure intensify, I let my hand meander to my own crotch and with my palm, I rub small circles. Just enough to feel something while I watch the writhing spectacle that is my boyfriend. He begins to make sounds I know all too well, the quiet whimpers of the frantic, pre-orgasmic state. I smirk down at him and purr, "Let it out."

Gerard moans very loudly in response, and I decide to have one last hurrah. "Let it out, you fucking slut."

Gerard bucks his hips up rather suddenly and groans very positively. I chuckle sadistically and press the 'power' button, to give my poor boyfriend's dick some post-climax relief. Gerard sits up straight and smirks at me. "Thanks for that, lover," he purrs, sinking down to his knees in front of me, "but I do believe I owe you something in return, no?"

I can't really object.

Gerard, taking my silence for consent, teasingly presses his tongue to the fly of my jeans before undoing it and pulling out my solid cock.

The thing I love about him is that everytime he sees my cock he looks like a kid at fucking Christmas. And shortly following his excited facial expression, he flicks his tongue against the very tip of it and I flinch. He licks up and down my length once, which signifies that he's about to really _start_. I knot the fingers of my left hand through his hair as he put his mouth around the head of my cock and swirls his tongue around it, slowly taking more of me down his throat. Unable to think about anyone else but myself, I buck my hips slightly, making Gerard gag a tiny bit, though the sensation this causes is definitely _not_ unwelcome. "Gerard?" I ask dreamily.

He murmurs a syllable in response.

"Can I- can I throat-fuck you?"

Gerard sits back on his heels, effectively stopping sucking my dick. This, I do not appreciate. "That has to be the oddest sentence anyone has ever said," he laughs. The sassy little prick.

I feel my cheeks warming to my increasing dismay. "I'm aware. But I'd make it worth your while.."

"How, exactly?"

I wave the remote control, still in my right hand. Gerard shrugs, says, "Fuck it. Why not?" and resumes sucking on my cock, opening his mouth considerably wider than before. I hold his hair more firmly and thrust my hips once, not going deep into his throat, attempting to keep my cool while getting Gerard used to the feeling. I press the 'power' button on the remote in my right hand and leave it be. Gerard exhales, which causes me a spasm of pure ecstacy, and he moans quietly, not an unwelcome sensation. While I continue my thrusts, I turn up the vibration and he moans louder in response, causing a more intense feeling around my dick and I start to make some noise, myself. "Bite if you like it," I growl.

Gerard gently grazes his teeth along my cock as I slide it in and out of his mouth, and I press the 'up' arrow with my right hand, pulling his hair a bit harder with my left. "Does he still like it?"

Gerard bites down gently, starting to whimper, mixed in with his moaning. _Already?_ I think to myself, and try and come up with a catalyst because close as I am to coming, I'm not _that_ close. I turn the vibration down and Gerard whines. "You're not coming before me," I state simply. "If you want, I could berate you like the filth you are in lieu of intense sensation."

He bites down on my cock, harder this time and I groan in a mix of pain and pleasure. "Oh, you can do better than _that_," I buck my hips as if I'd be fucking him properly, "can't you, you filthy little fuck toy?"

I get a harder bite in response and I turn up his vibration. My toes are starting to have minds of their own, a very good sign.

"Does he want to cum?" I ask, yanking upwards with my left hand and bucking my hips _hard_. Gerard whimpers and I crank up his sensation as high as it can go, his moaning around my cock pulling me over the edge and sending me into an intense orgasm at the same time Gerard finishes, and I don't think I've ever felt this fucking great. That is, until halfway through my climax, Gerard swallows what I've released at the same time I'm down his throat and I swear to God, I almost fucking scream.

I slowly pull out and rearrange myself, then offer my hand to Gerard. "That wasn't too bad, now was it?" I asked.

"Um," Gerard stammers, blushing. "No, no. I actually... I really liked it. But there remains the small problem that I've cum in my pants twice today, and it doesn't look too great, now does it?"

I strip off my jacket and tie it round his waist for him, considering it the least I can do. He smiles at me, my heart melts as per usual, and we walk out of the bathroom, hand-in-hand.

Far from perfect, but hey. So are we.


End file.
